cold_blades (cold_blades) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-01-11 23:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | daisy buchanan, sarah kerrigan |
Who: Alex and whoever wants to stumble across him.
What: Maybe the grass isn't greener, but what's important is to make it out alive on the other side.
Where: Somewhere between Bathos and Atom.
When: (backdated to) Saturday afternoon.
Warnings: None
It's bad. It doesn't look too bad, but it's bad. He kept his head down and kept moving, leaving a trail of blood on the footpath. He told Gaius he'd go to Atom but there was no way he could make it there on foot - not like this.
He tried anyway. Would go as far as he could go, sticking to the narrow back streets and small alleyways to avoid the National Guard. Hasn't had the time to pop in to an internet cafe during the chaos to check up on the latest news or check in with anyone, but he had seen them pick the 'infected' up off the streets and do god-knows-what to them. He has faith in the state and faith in the system, but right now he was still able to cope on his own and...
What really bothered him wasn't the blood that oozed relentlessly from the bite on his arm. It was the whole... the fact that he could throw things around through sheer willpower. It was ludicrous. Irrational. The most logical explanation was that he was having hallucinations because of loss of blood or whatever fluids happened to be in B-grade horror movie zombie saliva that got into his bloodstream.
But this wasn't a dream. He'd thrown one of them across the street against the wall. He sent a car skidding across the road to block off one of the streets they were coming in from. It was real, it was happening, and all those conspiracy theories that he'd brushed off when he first got here - they were starting to haunt him.
Telekinesis. Imagine that.
Between Bathos and Atom, Alex stopped moving. It was just physically impossible to take another step, so he slumped down to the floor, resting the back of his head against the brick wall with a sigh. It was a pedestrian-only side street so he wasn't too worried about the National Guard, though he was aware he was leaving a very visible trail. As exhausted as he was, if push came to shove, he wasn't about to go off with some figure of authority to get his skull cracked open and have a dozen needles unceremoniously stabbed into his brain.
Peeling his hand away from all the blood running down his arm - it looked disgusting and felt just about as bad as he did - he glanced around for anything he could use to tie it up, anything to lessen the pain or stall the bleeding.